


Shower Race

by mresundance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mresundance/pseuds/mresundance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Femslash. Sam'n'Dean are girls. Partially AU. When John burned up on the ceiling, Mary hit the road with her two daughters and became a hunter. The rest is pretty canon to my mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shower Race

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine.
> 
> Bonus meta [located here on livejournal](http://smutriot.livejournal.com/22523.html).

"Next time you're going to be the bait," Sam complains as they arrive back at the motel. She needs a shower to get the dirty old ghost who just felt her up out of her skin. As if it's not bad enough when it happens with the living; a ghost touch is ice, not cold so much as hollow, and reaches through muscle and bone.

Dean closes the door behind them. Sam starts stripping, so anxious to get in the shower she tangles her lanky body up in her own clothes.

Dean snorts at her younger sister. Starts unbuckling her belt, then unbuttoning her shirt. There's challenge in her bottle green eyes. Sam thinks: shit, she's gonna try and race me for the shower. An old game they'd played since they were kids. Rough-housing and screeching until Mary told them: Stop it or else neither of you are going to melt silver into bullets next time. Sam is still bitter Dean always pulled her hair.

And she can't argue with Dean that as bait, _she_ deserved the shower first. Dean would point out how she had to do all the digging and shooting shit. Or was the oldest.

"You're such a pussy sometimes," Dean kicks her jeans, peels off her shirt and tank-top underneath, starts working off her binder. Muscles in her back and shoulders rippling, filmed with sweat. A visual symphony. Sam reminds herself this is a race.

"'Sides, I would _suck_ as bait," Dean continues. "None of these dead straight dudes would wanna feel me up."

"Oh, poor you," Sam is loosed of her jeans. T-shirt gone, her bra slides away, success. She hops out of her underwear and towards the bathroom at the same time. Dean half a step behind; they collide in the doorway, jostling. Dean's struggling to get her BVD's off. Sam nearly starts laughing, because _god, Dean, could you be a bigger dykier stone butch?_. When Dean'd come out to Sam and Mary, their mother'd, said: Oh sweetie, it took you long enough.

"I get the shower," Dean bellows.

"I was bait!" Sam yelps, even though she knows it's useless.

"So?" Dean shoves her. Sam shoves back. She's taller, just as lean, spent almost just as much time hauling things around, heaving herself and others up, around, whatever, minus her college years. Hunting is a physical job. Her whole life, Sam has heard how many men thought women were just not up for it. Then again, these men tended to have limited imaginations as to what women could do, Sam thought, including things in bed.

A man in a bar, who'd been hitting on Sam left, right and center, had given her a very interested look when she mentioned she was there with her sister. Sam had said it hoping he'd get the hint and go away.

"Sisters?" he'd said instead, face lewd with the possibilities.

Until Dean swaggered in, burped, smiled charmingly, asking the bartender for another.

Dean and Sam hit the bathroom floor, a knot of limbs and bodies. Sam gets the upper hand, rolling on top.

"I could've left you with Casper the Perverted Ghost –" Dean says to the lino.

"Yeah, I'm such a damse –" Sam's cut off when Dean tumbles, reversing their positions. Pinned, shoulders and hips, she glares at her older sister. Chest to chest, their breasts pushing against each other. Dean smiles, the wide, jocular grin which seduced women to her bed without fail. The ten thousand megawatt smile which blinded women of the chance to think. Sam wonders if it's so pumped with sex appeal that it doesn't even work on _her_. This thought is troubling enough Sam tries not to dwell on it.

Dean goes still. A weird look passes over her face.

"Dean?"

Dean leans forward, Sam's heart's skittering like a caged animal, and trails a long, slobbering lick along the side of her face.

"Dean, _gross_."

Dean giggles and takes off while Sam wipes drool from her face. She hears the curtain squeak and the showerhead sputter.

"Jerk," she sits up and glares at the outline of Dean in the mildew spotted curtain.

"Bitch," Dean laughs.


End file.
